


Through All of Space and Time

by ciarbane (heathenminded)



Category: Mass Effect, Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Aliens, Crushes, Drabble, Drabbles, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Interspecies Relationship(s), Introspection, Multi, Pining, Pre Relationship, Reunion, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-13 23:17:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10523997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heathenminded/pseuds/ciarbane
Summary: A collection of my Mass Effect drabble works, since I have one for Dragon Age. Will explore multiple pairings and relationships, and develop them perhaps a little differently than the game.





	1. Seeing Ghosts, Seeking Angels

**Author's Note:**

> Sarya Shepard finds Archangel on Omega. Archangel finds a ghost. They're both pretty pleased with the outcome. (Mostly)
> 
> I don't know how this ended up so long but I'll definitely be writing more with these two. They are my favorites.

When the concussive round hits Sarya in the damn chest, she wants to laugh, half-giddy with it. It would have been the first true one since her resurrection- and the first action to justify it, in her consideration. This ‘Archangel’ is playing with her, damn him. 

She would play back, if she wasn’t surrounded by mercs that thought she was on their side. 

But there’s gonna be time enough for that, once she gets close enough to the freelancer’s nest. The weight of her guns and her grenades makes that one thing a certainty. 

If he shoots her again, however, they’re gonna have Words. 

\-------------

The figure in the N7 armor had taken one step back at the concussive round, and then tipped back, almost like they were amused. 

He knew that walk- moving quick and quiet, each step looking half like it wanted to burst into a jog. But more than that, he knew that particular style of grenade belt. 

Commander Shepard is dead, he told himself, for the umpteenth time, but his subharmonics didn’t seem to want to listen to his head. He was..Hopeful. Excited, even with the grief, the exhaustion plaguing him. He’d been under fire like this for too long, no rest. 

Delusional, clearly. 

Looking back through the scope, he takes out a Red Sun with a well aimed shot to the head- and then watches as the grenade bedecked figure spins, lifts a shotgun, and fires at one of the Eclipse members. Point-blank, in the face, and then they’re moving. Running, actually. 

So they’d turned on the mercs. 

Damn it, he was starting to like them. And the similarities between them and Shepard were becoming harder to overlook. 

Of course, then he can hear, on the frequencies, a human voice yell ‘kaboom!’ as he watches the soldier spin, lobbing no less than six explosives at the three groups following her. 

Garrus almost has to put down the gun, his throat tight, as he considers this. 

But then, of course, another mercenary - Blood Pack, his exhausted mind supplies- pops up, and he lines up to take the next shot. 

‘The odds just got a hell of a lot better.’ he says, into his headpiece, as he watches the explosive-armed figure move, with an almost manic grace. He’s surprised to realize how much he means it. 

\-----------------------------------

Mercenaries and firefights against ridiculous odds aren’t strangers to Sarya Shepard. The engineer is an underdog at heart- always willing and able to go against any odds, to claw herself to victory no matter the personal cost. 

It’s how she got through N7 training. It’s how she became a Spectre. If you ask Miranda, it’s likely what enabled her to survive being rebuilt. 

Resurrected, her mind supplies, when she stutter-steps at her own thought, almost missing the shot that she was sending through a krogan’s shields. She can feel Miranda’s eyes on her- feel Jacobs, and damn but it’s disconcerting. 

Sarya’s used to being able to trust the men and women she leads. This isn’t that. Another movement, and she’s throwing a sticky grenade, her own personal cocktail, onto a batarian’s armor. It glues on, and blows before he even notices.

Grenades are easy. Explosives are a piece of cake. Guns are a breeze. 

People are harder, and she’s fully aware that Archangel isn’t going to be a run in the park. 

The chances of him just up and joining her, even when she IS helping to save his ass, are low, and she doesn’t like her chances of this being an in-and-out recruitment. 

Sliding into his hideout, she can’t help but admire the tactics. She would have done the same- but she also would have left some traps, in his position. 

(Then again, she’s not a sniper- and even if she was, she wouldn’t be as crack a shot as this turian, she’s sure.)

Abruptly, she’s reminded of Garrus- the pang that gives her is almost enough to take her breath away. Re-focusing, she takes it out on a freelancer who had been charging up the bridge, teeth bared with her frustration. It doesn’t matter that it doesn’t do her any good to think about the bastard- she wants his dry wit at her shoulder, and his unfailing loyalty at her six. 

(She wants him to know she’s alive, dammit. He’d been her best friend, she doesn’t even want to know what hearing about her death may have put him through.) 

But they can’t find Garrus, so she’ll deal with taking Cerberus’ damn dossiers, and praying that among them she’ll find some people she can fucking trust. 

What a pipe dream. 

\---------------------------------------------

Garrus has lost visual on the merc in the N7 armor, and it looks like those behind her are being taken out- by more than just his bullets, finally. It’s.. Nice. Almost a breather, that someone’s helping him to pick off these single-minded idiots. The bottleneck has saved his life so far, but he’d always known it was a temporary solution at best. 

He doesn’t let the fact that he can’t see her bother him- keeps his mind on the fight. He’s got plenty of ammo, thank the Spirits, but what he doesn’t have is energy.  
And if he keeps popping stims, he thinks, _as he pops a stim_ , he’s going to have a.. How had she used to say it? 

_”You’re gonna give me a godsdamned heart attack one of these days, Vakarian! I’ve only got the one, come on!”_

It had been snarled after a mission- her, him at her six, and Alenko on their flank. He’d taken a shot that had sent him reeling. After unloading a bloody _clip_ into the offender’s face, Shepard had whirled on him, barking at Alenko to cover her. 

He’d been fine, just winded, but the fire in her eyes hadn’t dimmed for hours. He remembers he’d almost been spooked, by how bloody angry she’d been, and how vehement her words. 

The memory dissipates as a round sinks into the pillar, too close to his head. Just like that, he’s back in the moment, firing back at the mercs with something like fury. He’d come here to do good. Or tried to. Helping the civilians, lessening the threats to them as best he knew how. C-Sec was too trapped in bureaucratic circles to get the real shit done. Or it felt that way, after having worked under a Spectre, and had so much less stopping them from doing what had to be done. 

His own Spectre training had fizzled, and he’d closed that door when he left- too angry, too aggrieved to stay in that place, and hear Shepard’s name muttered reverently, when they were ignoring every warning she’d tried to give. 

He hears gunfire, outside his door, and freezes. The ‘beep-beep-BEEP’ of a grenade, and a boom shakes the floor. Ironically, that does nothing but soothe, because he knows who’s about to come through that door. 

And she does, her two goons behind her. They’re in Cerberus armor, and he dismisses them, after taking them in from the corner of his eye. They’re following her- her helmet’s still on, but so is his. 

“Archangel.” Says an all too familiar voice, and Garrus feels his subvocals go haywire. _Relief, pain, loss, relief. You’re alive, you’re alive!_ There’s the sound of a helmet being removed, and he hears her inhale, to speak again, but holds up a hand. 

Wait. Just.. 

**Bang.**

And the freelancer who had been peering out drops. Garrus sighs, in relief again, and rises, walking towards the three, and moving to sit- taking off his helmet once he’s down, and looking up, at a face he hasn’t seen in over two years. 

Sarya Shepard looks much the same. There’s the same green-blue eyes, the same square, chin. ‘Stubborn chin’, she’d informed him once, when he’d mentioned something about facial structure and races. He hadn’t understood, at first, but after getting to know her.. It fit. 

The same too-long-for-regs dark brown hair, coiled and braided like it had been every day they’d fought together. 

As he looks at her, he watches her expression go slack. Humans- he has a hard time deciphering emotions, their cues and tells from their faces. But Shepard is the exception. 

She looks terrified and hopeful, both- her helmet hits the ground, like her fingers have gone numb, and Garrus inhales- to say.. Something, he doesn’t know what. Anything. 

_You’re here, you’re real, my friend, mine,_ rumble his subharmonics, and he’s got no time to be glad she can’t hear him- 

Because Sarya Shepard has _launched_ at him, arms around his neck, with the force of a small wrecking ball. She’s smaller than he is by a good one and a half feet- maybe more, but she still knows how to throw herself at a krogan, and in that sense he’s not much different. Her followers are outright gaping at the display, but he’s too distracted by the proximity, by the _realness_ of her. It’s a hug, he realizes, as he flails for stability. A moment, and he gets there- and then feels something crack, deep in his chest. It’s awkward, with the armor, but he wraps his arms around her, head pressing down into her hair. He knows that his subharmonics are going- insane, honestly, at this display of blatant affection, but he doesn’t care. He can’t care.

She’s here. She’s _real. Alive._ She’d come for him, like some sort of knight in one of her old stories. Like the dreams he’d had that he’d knew better than to hope for, when this all began. 

She smells the same- chemicals, ozone, wood and metal, always, and he inhales, sharply. It’s a scent he’d forgotten, almost, but now that it’s there, he can’t believe he had. 

His voice is a rumble, when he speaks, next. A soft thing, just for her. “It’s good to see you.” 

\----------------------------------------------------------

“Vakarian I’m gonna fucking kill you.” Sarya said, gasped really, into his pauldron. She couldn’t _believe_ it. This was him. Her turian, her best friend.

Her turian? Fuck, that thought needs to stop right there and not move ever again. Hit the brakes, Sarya!

Detaching herself from him, she smiles so hard it honest to gods hurts- she hasn’t smiled like this once, since she came back. “Only you could manage to piss off _every_ major gang on Omega. I don’t know if I’m aghast or impressed, Spikes.” 

His mandibles fluttered, in the way she knows is a smile- cocky, self-assured, but not without that edge of exhaustion that’s haunting him like a ghost. “It wasn’t easy, you know. I really had to work for it.” He tells her, and she can’t even get over that she’s hearing his voice again. 

This is a dream. She doesn’t want to wake up. She’ll kill the person who wakes her up, as painfully as she possibly can. 

“Bullshit. You’re just naturally combative and abrasive. They probably took one look at your badass self, and just decided, right then, that you were their new arch enemy, _Archangel.”_ She peers around him, looking at the bridge- no one has tried to cross, since she’s gotten here. Regrouping, probably- all the freelancers are dead and gone, at this point. 

“Please, Commander. Just Garrus, to you.” He sounds almost embarrassed, now, and she feels a spike of glee through her chest. He’s still the same man. Harder- darker, maybe, but he’s still Garrus. 

“Spikes.” She corrects, happily, before peering out again. “Okay. Reunions done. We need to keep you alive, and get you the hell out of here.” His expression settles- it’s back to business. 

His comment of ‘It’ll be just like old times.’, does painful things to her heart, and she smiles, again, roughly. 

“Sure thing. Miranda, stay here with him. You keep him alive.” Commander-voice in check, she turns on the biotic woman, expression hard. “Give him cover fire, and help his shields. Garrus, you have an obvious handle on yourself, so just keep picking them off.” She flicks her gaze to him, however, dry and _mostly_ unamused. “And if you shoot me again, there’ll be hell to pay. Jacob and I will go down to the lower levels- keep anyone from getting too close, no matter what angle they come from. If I have time, I’ll start laying some explosives, give them a surprise if they get too near to us. Clear?” Her pale gaze swings to each of the team members in turn. 

Miranda raises a pistol, her visor glinting amber over her eyes. “Alright, Commander. Loud and Clear.” Shepard hums, pleased- she may not, on a personal level, trust Miranda.. But truth be told, she trusted her damn well on the field. The biotic woman would do as told- Garrus was probably going to be aggressively body-guarded, now. 

Sarya had no complaints. 

Jacob looked at her, a frown in his gaze, before nodding, sharply. He’s not a fan of- any of this, she knows. Doesn’t approve of Archangel - Garrus - and she’s pretty sure he doesn’t approve of her either. 

Doesn’t matter. He follows orders, they’ll do just fine together.

Garrus eyes her, and nods his head. The helmet is left, abandoned, and he moves to take his position again, settling his gun against the ridge of the wall. Sarya turns her gaze to catch Miranda’s- it’s pleading.

She’s never doubts Garrus’ ability. There’s no one she’d rather have on her side in a firefight than the turian male. He’s hell on clawed feet, for anyone who ends up in his scope. 

But he’s worn down, and there’s something in her eyes that makes her want to kill every merc out there, single-handedly, if she has to. 

Miranda, to her eternal credit, seems to know what Sarya is asking, and she nods. The Commander breathes, and then turns, moving down the stairs at a run. Sticky grenades are placed at the bottom of the stairwell, as she passes- two on each side of the steps, one on the first step itself. 

Anyone who tried to sneak past her would get a nasty damn surprise. 

\--------------------------------------------

Garrus had almost forgotten how well he and Shepard did together. They didn’t need to even speak- he knew where she was, always, and she was the same with him. They worked in tandem, a well-oiled machine. 

Even when the lower levels are breached, somehow he’s not worried. She’s running, moving to handle it almost before the words are out of his mouth, and the fact of it has something tight within his chest. 

He trusts her implicitly, but it’s been a long time since he’s been able to feel that towards someone, it feels.

And right when he thinks everything might turn out- that they might win this, and he might walk out, unscathed…. 

Everything goes to hell. 

\----------------------------------------------------------

Sarya’s been pacing outside the med bay for what feels like hours, after Chakwas had kicked her out. There’s still blue blood, on her hands, her wrists. Her armor has long been ditched, to be cleaned later- she couldn’t bear to look at it, could feel herself suffocating within it. 

Funny how blue always used to make her think of him. Now she doesn’t know if she can look at the color for a while, without remembering this- the gunship, his blood on the floor, the choking, gasping breaths he’d taken. 

Yeah, no, she’s not sleeping tonight. 

Or tomorrow.

Who needs sleep? 

So busy pacing, and trying to untangle the knot of anxiety and straight-up horror that’s threatening to choke her, she doesn’t hear the doors open- and jumps, hands flying up, as a three-fingered hand lands tentatively on her shoulder. 

Blue eyes meet gray, and Sarya’s breath explodes from her, as she turns to him. Garrus. He made it. _He’d survived._

“They wouldn’t give me a mirror.” Garrus says, awkwardly, as she looks him over. His face- the damage is pretty bad, and she suspects he’s lucky he didn’t lose the mandible on that side. There will be scarring, she can see, along the entire lower quarter of his head, there. The bandage and cybernetics working to heal him and keep him together can only do so much, in the end. But they saved his life. She’s pretty happy with that. 

“So how bad is it, Shepard?” 

Sarya pauses, and looks at him, quietly for a moment. “Oh I don’t know. Scars have their charms.” She smiles then, wolfishly, and his good mandible flares, a smirk in return. “Dammit, Garrus, I can never use you for undercover again. I’ll be beating women off you with a stick.” 

He rumbles a rough laugh in response, shaking his head. “Don’t make me _laugh_ dammit. I’m barely holding together as it is.” For all that the words have humor, there’s actual pain in the tone, and Sarya’s expression softens, instantly. Dammit. 

“Duly noted. No making you fall apart unless you’re good, whole, and hale.” She says- and maybe her voice is a little softer, now. “And it needs to be metaphorical.” 

He looks at her, blue eyes sharp. As always, seeing too much. She wonders if he sees that she’s not really her- a stranger’s who she sees in the mirror, even if it’s still her eyes, somehow. “I’ll be sure to return the favor.” He says, after a moment. 

Sarya has to control herself, not to tackle him again. There’s so much- relief, and joy, and fear in her rib cage she’s surprised he can’t see it, with that damn visor of his. But her heartbeat remains steady, through a conscious effort of will. She’s safe from that, at least. 

“Counting on it, Vakarian.” She says, quickly- and she’s the Commander again, the softness gone, all sharp smiles and wicked wit. Her hand catches his and squeezes, once, briefly, before she’s pulling back. “Find a place to lay down- rest up. I don’t care where so long as it’s comfortable. I’ll see you in the morning, probably.” 

Watching her, his mandible flutters, again, and he nods. “Of course, Shepard. I’ll let you know where I stake my claim. I’d hate to get lost on you.” He ducks his head, two-toned voice back to its’ normal cadence, and then stalks out the door with that natural grace he’s always had in spades. 

It’s exhausted, still- there’s obvious pain, in how he holds himself. 

But watching him, Sarya can almost feel like this might turn out alright.


	2. Bombs and Other Bonding Activites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus starts to think he might like the Commander more than he should.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will ship Garrus and Sarya till I die. Also there's going to be a lot of fics about them. I'm not sorry.

Garrus is starting to realize that he may have a slight problem. And that problem’s name is Sarya Shepard. 

He has a lot of cause to be very glad that there aren’t other turians on the _Normandy._ Lately, any time he sees her outside of a mission, his subvocals raise- fondness, pleasure at her company, in a way that’s no longer exactly platonic. 

Which is as baffling as it is nerve wracking. 

They’ve been close since the day she’d recruited him. Sarya had claimed to like his ‘rebel spirit’ and he’d liked how much of a wise-cracking soul she was. Always ready with a smile and a quip, and always offering companionship, even if she didn’t like you that much. 

He’d never had to worry about her not liking him, though- she’d made it pretty clear, when it became apparent that she spent more time talking to him than just about anyone else. He would work- fine-tuning the Mako, calibrating a gun or modding another one, and she would either fill the silence with stories and audible plans for her next explosive, or work in silence with him. It had been _easy_. Never forced, nothing they’d had to work at. 

It showed on the field, too, in how they played off one another. She had a kind of trust in him, in his abilities that humbled him. He’d been a green C-Sec agent, really. A crack shot, and a good support in the field, but there were times she’d needed to remind him to use his head. 

(Looking back, that might have been hypocritical of her. She was as reckless as they came, in the Alliance, he was pretty sure.)

What had started out as near-hero worship, had become true camaraderie. Friendship, forged in the field as they hunted Saren, as they trusted their lives into one another's’ hands. The rest of the crew- he’d admired, cared for them all in a way, as had she. But they’d had something different. 

And then he’d heard that she died- after Saren, after recommending him for Spectre training, and being dispatched to, of all the insults, hunt down geth, as people ignored her warnings, ignored her knowledge. 

They hadn’t lost touch, when she’d been sent off to do the tasks she’d been assigned. She’d hated them, but she’d done them- ranted to him through emails now and again. He’d made her smile with the sarcasm that seemed to trip off his tongue easier every day. 

And she’d seemed damn proud, that he was going through the Spectre training, that he was working to become something like that. She’d said, point blank, that if she believed anyone could do it, it was him. 

And maybe that was where it had all started.   
But then he’d been given the news. The _Normandy_ struck down- a burning wreck, lost to an attack by the geth. Commander Shepard, Alliance N7, killed saving her pilot. 

Spaced. Suffocating. 

Her comms had been on. The whole crew, every person she’d saved, had heard as her body fought and struggled, and how it had eventually lost that fight. 

He can’t imagine that. He hadn’t even heard the logs, but he can imagine them enough. Could imagine them then. It had felt like someone had punched a hole, straight through his plates. Straight into his chest, gripping his heart and _squeezing._

He’d been next to useless for the days leading up to her funeral, and somehow, _that_ had been what woke him. Watching the Alliance do their ceremonial send-off, watching them honor her, and fire old-time rifles into the air. 

Waking up had been horrible. 

\----------

Working within the Main Battery, Shepard has joined him again. He doesn’t have to even look up to know exactly what she’s doing- sitting, legs tucked and curled, as she goes over reports, and works on a new casing for her next prototype of explosive. The first copies she always makes by hand, and once they’re ‘perfect’ she has them fabricated. 

He likes letting her tinker in ‘his’ space. Likes being able to glance over at her and see her- real, alive, present. His subvocals hum in pleasure, at the nearness. At the knowledge that she sees _him_ and _his place_ as a safe one, as a place to escape to. 

Sarya glances up at him, as he watches her, and winks- playful, somehow, even with the fate of the damn human race on her shoulders. He doesn’t know when she’s started to become ‘Sarya’- not ‘Commander’, or ‘Shepard’, but it’s been happening, and he hasn’t stopped it yet. 

He also hasn’t actually, verbally called her by name. Just in his head, which honestly- nothing wrong with that, right? 

Her voice startles him from his consideration, even as he runs code and algorithm to ensure that everything is running in the best shape it can be. 

“Hey, I need your help with this screw. You’ve got better reach than me.” she says, and he almost staggers, looking over at her. 

Unbidden, he remembers the sparring session, so long ago- and _reach_ and _flexibility._

Fluttering his mandibles to get them _off the damn floor,_ he nods, moving towards her. Instantly, she moves, and he huffs a laugh, taking the cue to sit beside her on the crate and raising his brow plates at her, thoughtfully. 

Sarya turns, showing him the casing she’s working on- the screw on one of the internal panels, tiny and on the far side is loose, and he huffs, carefully taking the ‘driver from her to work it. “I’ve never understood why you insist on doing this all by hand.” He complains, half-heartedly, as he works on tightening the tiny piece of metal. 

“Keeps my mind busy. And my hands.” Comes the prompt reply, and he snorts. 

“Your hands are always busy, Commander. You never **stop moving.**.” 

Her laughter is his reward, and he lets the alien, smooth sound wash over him, eyes half-closing in pleasure at it. But then she’s moving to watch him work, pressed against his side, her chin on his shoulder. 

He pauses, subvocals humming in surprised pleasure at the proximity, as the scent of chemicals, woodsmoke and guns washes over him. Blue eyes meet gray, and she grins at him, all teeth and genuine delight at his expression. 

A wave of fondness hits him, as she hums “Just wanna watch. You’re good at helping me out.” 

“Of course I am.” he scoffs, turning back to the casing. “I’m your best turian. I have to be able to help you out. Apparently, that means on the field and with bombs. Because, you know, explosives and I _mix so well._ ” He gestures, playfully, at the side of his face. 

However, that was, apparently the wrong thing to say- the light in her eyes dims, faintly, and she inhales- too fast. His visor tells that her heartbeat picked up, for a second, and he frowns, faintly, as she hesitates. 

“I’m-” 

“If you say ‘sorry’, I swear to the Spirits, Sarya.” His voice is quick, sharp. “You saved me. Kept me alive. It’s fine.” 

She’s still frowning, but doesn’t continue the words, as he turns back to the casing. He’s almost got it, after all. 

“You know, I think you’re the first and only member of either _Normandy_ crew to call me by name.” She says, finally, and he hums, avoiding the answer. It had slipped out- but it felt.. Good. Right. To use her name. And he wasn’t sorry. 

And she wasn’t mad, so. 

Making a triumphant growl, Garrus held the empty grenade aloft, and looked at her, mandibles flared in a grin. “Victory is mine.” He added, smugly- and her smile returned, alongside a laugh. 

Taking the case, she leaned forward, and her lips brushed his cheek. The contact was soft as that human material - satin, she’d told him, once, yes?- but the spark it sent through him felt like he’d been _shot._

“Thanks, Garr. You’re the best.” 

Hopping down from the crate and gathering her things, she headed for the door, tossing him another smile. 

“I’ll see you later, then. Gotta go back and be Commander Shepard.” 

“Knock’em dead.” He said, after a second, and she snorted. “I might. Don’t worry. I’ll call you for backup.” 

And then she’s out the door, and he’s staring after her, still stunned. 

_Oh._


	3. Kaboom 2.0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarya leads the group into a firefight, and a few puzzle pieces of herself return from darkspace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to do a kind of introspective, Sarya-focused chapter for a bit. Also really wanted to write a little bit of action? Fun fact, the physical combat scene- I've done the move I describe. 
> 
> It's fun.

The spray of bullet fire is the loudest sound on the field, as Sarya ducks behind cover, her breath sharp in her chest. They’ve been pushing their way through the building, chasing the assassin for the past twenty minutes, and it feels like a thrill ride, more than it feels like the high-risk mission that it is. 

She can hear Garrus’ triumphant snarl, as he takes a kill shot, and the smile that hits her face is wild, as she pops up from her own cover. A flick of her wrist, and her grenades scatter along the field. _”Kaboom.”_ comes the hum, as she ducks back down, and they detonate in quick succession. 

The shouts of panic from their opponents draws a snort from her, and she meets Garrus’ gaze, winking, before rolling over her cover. The Brawler pistol she keeps on her hip is drawn- three shots, and she’s behind a crate. Each hit had landed- two down, and one wounded. 

There weren’t a lot of moments, since her resurrection, that she felt as alive as she did in a fight like this. 

She can hear Miranda’s biotics flare, watches as she warps the gravity around a clustered group of batarians. The dark-haired woman is cool and calm, with her focus. She lacks Sarya’s savage glee, and Garrus’ wild laughter, but she’s a good balance for the pair. 

Spinning out of her cover, she fires again, before picking a grenade from her belt. This one’s eezo-infused- a mockery of a biotic’s singularity, for the non-biotic that Sarya was. Useful as hell, she considers, as she uses her gun to pick off those dragged into the field. A bullet **thwacks** straight into her shields- then three more, but she doesn’t duck back until each target is down. 

Garrus makes a noise of fond exasperation at the move. “You’re insane, Commander!” he shouts, voice rough and dual-toned with fondness and exasperation. She’d always taken risks, in the field, not the least of those being staying out of cover for far longer than she probably ought to. 

But the adrenaline rush keeps her head clear, and her aim sharp, so she’s not likely to stop any time soon. 

“You love it, Vakarian!” Sarya calls back- but she pauses, right as one of the mercs- a vanguard, she thinks - charges her. 

They collide in a crash of metal, before she can duck out of the way, and she can feel, more than hear, Garrus’ shout of alarm, before her mind is absorbed fully into the situation she’s now in. 

The biotic is tired, at least- and they need time, to build their abilities again, she knows. That’s the advantage, and it’s the only one she gets, as they roll across the floor. They’re too entwined for Garrus or Miranda to do a damn thing- she’s going to have to rely on keeping anyone else away from her, while she handles this. There’s blood on her teeth, from his body-blow, and she can feel her ears ringing.

The vanguard is a burly human man, at least six inches taller than she is, but that doesn’t matter worth shit. 

Jabbing her hand into his throat, Sarya rolls away from him, and to her feet, as he chokes. She hadn’t had the angle to put nearly enough power into that move, and it’s not enough to keep him down- just enough to slacken his grip. He’s up once more, faster than anticipated, and then he’s rushing at her, again. 

The Infiltrator angles her body to the side, and slams her foot into his stomach, where the armor’s softest. He wheezes, and the momentary shock is enough for her to bring her elbow down on the back of his neck, forcing him to double over. 

A fluid shift of her hips, and she’s got her legs around his neck- and then she _throws_ her body weight forward, flipping herself around him, and dragging them both to the ground. His armor means she can’t choke him, or even snap his neck. 

But the sharp force of the move slams his head into the ground, which dazes him enough for her to drag her pistol free, and fire two shots into his head. 

Rolling up once more, and to the side, she holsters the gun back onto her thigh, pulling the Crossfire from her shoulder. The rapid shots cover her, as she throws herself behind the same cover as Miranda, a grin wide on her face. 

“I repeat: you’re insane.” Garrus said, loudly, as he raised his gun to take another shot. Sarya’s sensors tell her that he’s hit his mark- and with that, all falls quiet. 

“We’re clear.” Miranda says, finally, before turning to look at Sarya, with a long sigh. “Are you alright?” 

Pushing flyaway hair out of her eyes, she looks up at the Adept with a faint sort of smile. “I’m perfect. Promise.” There’s blood in her mouth, and she’s going to be bruised, but otherwise there’s nothing to worry about, and she’s not all that worried. “Take a few minutes, both of you. They’re not going to try to rush us, here- there’s no tactical advantage to them, if they do, ‘cause we’ve got most of the cover.” Her explosives had blown most of it on the other side to pieces, after all. “Then we’ll press on.” 

Miranda presses her fingers to her temples, with a slow sigh. The Commander is likely a frequent source of headaches for the Cerberus operative, but she isn’t going to be sorry for tactics that work, and risks that pay off. 

They’d resurrected her to be _her_ , and that meant everything. Poor Miranda. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s later, in the Normandy, that Sarya huffs, sliding down against one of the walls in the lower deck. She usually uses this place for sparring, or exercise, but right now, it’s _quiet_ and that’s what she wants more than anything else, at the moment.

Today had been good. Successful mission, one badass drell assassin, successfully recruited. Plus one terminal case of Keprals. 

But this mission is probably terminal too, so she’s not all that torn up over it. The death itself wasn’t changing, only the how of it, probably. 

The Commander flips a vial of iron dust through her fingers, end over end as she studies it. She’s tired again- that weariness that hasn’t left her since she’d woken up in Cerberus’ lab. 

She’d forgotten what it was, to grapple with someone, full-contact and no holds barred. A true fight, no guns, no cover, nothing but your body and someone else’s. 

And it actually felt like her body, after that, though sometimes it didn’t, now. 

Objectively, Sarya knew she was still _Sarya._ She remembered things that Cerberus had no way of knowing, and had checked them with the people who would- Garrus, Joker, Tali. She still had quirks that Cerberus likely wouldn’t have thought important enough to program into a clone or an AI. 

She still liked every kind of soup that she could get her hands on. She still thought that making element zero bombs was the _single_ coolest thing she’d ever done, and yes, it out-gunned fighting a fucking Reaper. She still liked french braiding her hair a little crooked, off-center, and still forgot to undo it before she crashed into a bed, when and if she ever slept. Creating her own explosives was still a passion, and she remembered all her formulas that she’d never told a soul about, the schematics for each of them firmly lodged into her brain and nowhere else. 

But that fight felt like all the times before- training in the Alliance, against people bigger, stronger, more skilled than she often was, and how often all she’d wanted was to go, and go, and go, until she could figure out how to win. Her body had worked the way it always had, all instinct and trained skill, no hesitation. 

She still had that weird love of flipping her opponents to stun them.   
Sarya Hunter Shepard is still Sarya Hunter Shepard. Just…. Different, now. 

She’d died. You didn’t come back from something like that unchanged. 

But the smile that spreads on her face, tired though it is, is _real._ She knew herself, really. She knew herself, and she knew her mind, more than anyone ever would, though Miranda probably knew her _body_ better than anyone else, now. 

And Miranda hadn’t even taken her out to dinner. Scandalous. 

Rising, she moves, heading to her room with slow, steady strides. She wants to tinker. She wants to reaffirm this-- epiphany, she guesses. 

_I’m me, I’m me, I’m not their dog._

She wants to work with her explosives, in the way that she always has, and she wants to play around.

There really wasn’t a better way to prove to herself that she was… Herself, than to work with her chemicals. 

\------------------------------------------------

Fragmentation grenades are her favorites. Always had been. She likes to play with how they splintered, and the radiuses they had, based on the components within, and the levels of each. Sometimes she got creative- added napalm within them, to give her opponents a nasty shock, or liquid nitrogen. Sometimes element zero, to play with gravity’s effects on the field. Biotics had always fascinated her, and failing spontaneously developing them (a sad impossibility) this was as close as she was gonna get. 

But right now, she’s doing the oldie-but-goodie- a true fragmentation grenade, the first model she’d ever made, back when she was nineteen. Six canisters on the inside of a notched orb, each filled with the explosives, but segmented. Pulling the pin allowed the explosives to meet. After a nine second ‘cook-time’, _kaboom._ Mayhem on the field. 

True, this model was far less efficient now, with the improvements to armor that had been made in the last ten years, but it still had its’ charms, on the field, and would always have its’ uses. 

The music playing in the background is old, but it all varies- music from all races, from any time in the past two hundred years. She can work to anything, but she can’t work without something playing. Another thing that hasn’t changed. 

She still prefers to use her left hand to play canisters, even though she’s usually right-handed. 

Every little revelation is like a puzzle piece of herself, coming home and locking into place. Makes her heart settle in her chest, and her mind focus on the task at hand, to the point of blocking everything else out. 

She’s still her. And to know that is… A pretty powerful thing.


	4. Ice Storms and Pillow Jobs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vetra is learning that the Pathfinder may be more than a friend, and the climate of Voeld seems intent to help that along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VETRA IS SUCH A GIFT. THE BISEXUAL TURIAN I DON'T DESERVE TO BE HONEST.

Alshain Ryder, Vetra has learned, is unpredictable at the absolute _best_ of times. And when things go to shit? Then she’s even worse.

The smuggler is learning to love that, honestly. 

They’re piled into the nomad- her, Cora, and Alshain herself, after successfully taking a kett base on Voeld. The cold has soaked into her bones, through her carapace, it feels, but Alshain’s breathless laughter is leaving a warm, funny feeling in her chest.

Cora looks up, face flushed red from the chill, even with her helmet, though that had been ditched the moment the Nomad sealed. “You going into shock or something?” she asked, dryly, and Alshain just laughed harder, hauling off her own helmet and leaning back, against her seat. 

Short brown hair fluffs out, over olive skin, as she turns to look at them, grinning hugely. “I’m _fine_ Cora. That was just… A rush.” 

The rush being the Pathfinder punching a charging Eiroch with her biotics. In the face. 

Vetra was pretty sure she’d just lost a few years off her life, from that move, even if it had saved their asses. The huge beast had pinned them all against the cliff face, and Vetra’s shields could only do so much against something that size. Cora had been forced to pause to reload. 

So Alshain had decided to up and punch the thing. 

Vetra hadn’t even known the small human was a biotic. She’d never seen her use them in combat- not on Eos, not before on Voeld. 

Didn’t much matter. It had saved their asses, today, and she wasn’t going to… What was the human phrase? 

‘Look a present horse in the jaw?’ 

Eh, probably. 

Wind howled outside, and Vetra’s subvocals hummed in slight worry, as she leaned back in her own seat, exhaling. “Sounds like we’re gonna get blown off a cliff if we try going anywhere.” she said, after a long moment, and Cora groaned her agreement, dropping her head into her hands. 

Alshain hummed, keying off the ignition, and locking the wheels down. The Nomad automatically lowered its’ body towards the ground. The wind would howl and howl at this thing like this, but it wouldn’t do much good. 

The Pathfinder rose from her seat, heading towards the drawers in the back, where they kept the emergency supplies. And most importantly, the blankets. 

Vetra had a ‘thing’ about taking care of people, Lexi had said once. The turian had almost been too flustered to respond for a second, before she was huffing a laugh. There wasn’t really any way to deny it, after all. And she’d gone from taking care of Sid, to taking care of a crew. 

And Alshain seemed to be determined to take care of all of _them_ , in turn, including Vetra herself. This was evident, as she draped the blankets over Vetra and Cora both, before dropping into the side-seat beside her. Her own blanket firmly in hand, the human leans against Vetra’s side with a huff, and the muffled clunk of their hard suits. 

“That was a hell of a stunt. If you were trying to impress, you had a woefully small audience.” Vetra said, finally. “Maybe next time do that in front of the kett stronghold? They’ll probably realize, then, that you’re not to be fucked with. Leave the planet.” Her mandibles twitch, both flaring and one going higher than the other in a smirk. 

Alshain beamed in response, bright blue eyes flicking up to meet Vetra’s. “Oh? Here I thought you’d be trying to ban me from doing something like that again. You know, the way Cora was the whole way back to the Nomad.” 

Cora made a disgusted noise, before closing her eyes, like she was trying to forget they were there. The Pathfinder and her Second had a funny sort of relationship- like sisters, almost, with the constant bickering and ribbing. 

Vetra thought maybe it was a way to cope, with Alshain’s brother - Altair - being in the coma, and Cora having no one here _but_ the Pathfinder, with Alec’s death having come to pass. 

“The day I try to ban you from doing anything is the day the eirochs bow down.” Vetra muttered. “You wouldn’t listen, and I’m _fully_ aware. I’m pretty sure that whenever someone says ‘don’t’, you hear a dare.” 

“You’re not wrong.” Ryder said, thoughtfully, resting her head on Vetra’s shoulder. The turian could feel her heart skip a bit, and the blood in the soft skin of her neck heated in a sort of blush. She was.. Very glad she was wearing the scarf. 

“So. I’m not sleeping.” Alshain said, like this wasn’t a terribly domestic- intimate?- position that they were in, and like there wasn’t an inch of their flanks that weren’t pressed together. “I’ll keep an ear out for trouble. I mean, I doubt even the kett can get around easy in this weather, but they’re kind of horrible and resilient, so I could be wrong. But you ought to rest. Beauty sleep, right? Not that you need it.” This was punctuated by one of her winks. The comments like this were.. Very common, with Alshain, and yet they still had Vetra constantly off balance. 

Vetra hummed, her subvocals making the noise shudder and ring- watched as Alshain smiled in response. Something about that particular noise that Vetra made, whenever she considered something, always made her react like that. Like she liked it. 

The turian would be lying if she said she hadn’t started doing it just a little more, to see that smile. 

Shoot her, she’s weak. 

\--------

She wakes up some time later, as the wind begins to lessen in its’ belligerent howling. The storm, it seems, is finally breaking, and between the shields, their armor, and the blankets, it’s damn cozy in the enclosed space of the Nomad. 

She realizes, after a moment, that she’s half on top of the Pathfinder, and Vetra jerks upright, sputtering as her subharmonics hummed between pleasure and embarrassment. 

She needn’t have bothered, it seems. Alshaim opens one eye, as she had been dozing, and makes a wry sort of smile at Vetra. “Aw. And here I was enjoying being your pillow. SUCH an easy job, compared to this whole pathfinder business. You know?” 

Vetra blinks, disarmed against that smile, but manages one of her own. “I’ll give you a solid ‘A’ rating, in that particular path, Ryder.” 

The human laughs, and throws a fist into the air, jerking it down in the motion that many of that race seem to do when pleased. “Hell yeah!” 

Vetra is so sunk, if that warm tingling in her chest is anything to go by. She doesn’t mind, she doesn’t think.


	5. Fisticuffs to Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leo is a fighter at heart, and she's a damn good one. She's never as vibrant as she is when she's sparring with a friend, or studying some sort of ruin, in a high-risk environment. 
> 
> It's nice that people take notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leonis Ryder is lovely. I love her. 
> 
> Also Jaal. 
> 
> ALSO LEXI, AND U BET SHE'S LEO'S BFF OK..

The lower deck, near the engine room, is really the only place that Leonis has to spar. The ship is big - beautifully so - but there’s a purpose for everywhere, and only so few places she could set up the mats, or a punching bag, or a dummy. 

Or the bars. Gymnastics too, were an important part of her training regime But so long as she remembers to take everything down and pack it up when she’s done, there’s usually not a problem. 

Cora throws a biotically charged fist at her face, and Leo bends over backwards, catching her hands on the mat, and rotating onto them. Her own biotics flare, and she focuses them around her legs, using her hands to spin, on the mat, one foot colliding hard with Cora’s shoulder.

The blonde staggers back, and grins, before _pulling_ Leo’s grip out from under her. The Explorer yelps as she hits the ground, and barely brings her arms up to block a bone-rattling, hammer-like blow from the Commando. It hurts like a bitch, but Leo grins, teeth more bared, and hooks her legs around Cora’s, yanking the woman down to join her on the floor. 

From there, it’s grappling, and here’s where Leo owns the floor. Cora can’t keep her pinned for more than a half-heartbeat, and they flip and slam around, until Leo’s got Cora pinned, her face pressed into the mat. 

Neither woman is unbloodied or unbruised. When it came to full contact-sparring, Cora was the one with the greatest upper hand- her Commando training meant that Leo was mostly outclassed. But wrestling, grappling on a floor, left the ball in the Pathfinder’s court, and they both knew it. 

Leo laughs, as she rolls off of Cora, collapsing onto her back and panting. There’s a sheen of sweat on her olive-brown skin, and her hair is sticking to her face, the lavender strands tangled in her eyelashes, strewn over her mouth. They’d been at it for hours, longer than they had in a while, and she’s going to feel it tomorrow in all the best possible ways. 

Cora’s in a similar state, a grin on her face- her hand raises, and Leo lifts her own to slap against it in a weary high-five. 

They both peer up, at the sound of applause, and Leo _beams_ to see that they’ve drawn an audience- everyone, actually, even Kallo, though he so rarely leaves the pilot’s chair. 

(She’s pretty sure he sleeps there. It’s why she hid a pillow and a blanket under his chair.) 

Leo loves to spar, loves the physical showcase of her skills, of her opponent’s skills. It’s _fun_ and more than that, it’s important. A spar is a dialogue. You can learn more about your teammates in twenty minutes of a mock-fight, than you can sometimes in days of spending time in the same ship with them. 

Like she knows that Cora is patient to the point of extreme, but she judges too much with her gazer, always ready to lunge, and tricked sometimes by a feint. She knows Liam is overeager, messy, but somehow still profoundly capable, and savagely strong in body and heart. Peebee is a wild, unpredictable thing, and perfectly willing to fight dirty. 

Vetra, Drack, and Jaal she hasn’t tried yet, but she’ll get there. 

(She’s looking forward to Drack.) 

Back in the Milky Way, back home, Sirius and her had sparred all the damn time, training and growing up as they had. Her brother and her had gotten to the point where every fight was a stalemate- they knew one another so well, and they knew themselves, and their own bodies. 

Of course, then she’d gone off on her Prothean digs, and he’d gone to Arcturus. That had changed things, at least a little. 

She had been looking forward to learning the new him, once they hit Andromeda. A pang of grief hit her- that would… Wait. 

For a while, now.

But her grin doesn’t slip in the slightest, as she pops up and bows, golden eyes alight with mischief. Drack grins at her, with a slow chuckle. “Next time, add in an uppercut when you’re doing that ‘nova’ thing you like so much.” comes the advice from the veteran. “Right as you’re coming up out of it.” 

Pausing, Leo considers that, her head already bobbing thoughtfully as she grabbed her towel. “I like it. I’ll give it a shot. Thanks, gramps.” 

His laughter boomed, again, as she moved to help Cora up, tossing the other woman’s towel on top of her head. “You’re alright, kid.” he mutters, moving to head back to the galley. 

Moving to sit on a crate, Leo watches as the crowd begins to disperse, rubbing herself down with the towel. She needs a shower, honestly, but if she takes one right now, she’ll fall asleep, and if she hits her head on the tile, they have a problem. 

Like a huge one. 

Especially if the hit kills her, which, with those tiles, they definitely _could._ She’s not gonna risk it, right now.

Jaal wanders over, after a while of Leo humming to herself. She doesn’t know much, about their newest resident, and he doesn’t know much about her, but she likes him, so far, mistrustful as he may be. He has a right to be. All of the angara do. 

The kett are horrible. 

And truth be told, she doesn’t trust him much either. She _loves_ this crew, they’re all a damn family, to the core, but of all of them, the only ones she trusts fully are Liam, Cora, and Lexi. 

Glancing up, gold eyes meet blue, and Leo smiles, gamely. Mistrust aside, she does want to make him feel comfortable as possible, while he’s with them. There’s no need for him to be aware of her misgivings. 

And she’s sure as hell not gonna judge him for his. 

(Even Evfra, really. He could be as prickly, as cold towards her as he liked. He’d seen Some Shit, and she’d just have to work to earn his trust.) 

“You are very.. Fluid, when moving, like that, training with Cora.” Jaal said, after a moment. “You move like air. How did you learn to do so?” His voice is guarded, cautious. He hasn’t asked much about her, though it seems he ought to. He’s here to learn about them, after all. But if this is where he wants to begin, she’s alright with that. 

Humming, Leo leans back on her hands, considering. “There’s an acrobatic sport, where I’m from, called gymnastics. I’d been doing that since I was three- lots of flipping through the air, lots of balance work and flexibility training.” He frowns, considering her words, and slowly joins her, sitting on the crate beside her own. 

“When I joined up with the Alliance, hand-to-hand combat was obviously going to be something I had to learn. But I decided to sort of combine the two disciplines. I’m a biotic, so melee is always an option for me.” Even before SAM, she’d manifested, and now SAM could just.. Boost. It was a rush, every time. 

“So I just trained. A lot.” She looks at him, arching a brow. “Do the Angara have anything like that?” 

Jaal pauses, considering her as she waits. “Yes. We have some sports that require great control over your body. I never learned.” He pauses, again, watching her. There’s something bashful, almost, and she realizes, with a thrill of pleasure, that this is progress. She would _like_ to be able to trust him. She would love to be friends. 

“That’s cool. How races from different galaxies, different species altogether can have similar things, you know?” Leo said quietly, leaning forwards onto her knees. “Maybe I could see, sometime?” 

He considers this, and half-smiles. “Are you always this eager?” 

“I was an archaeologist. Learning about cultures and differences is what makes me get out of bed in the morning.” Leo confirmed. “Other than considering that I can explore this gorgeous galaxy. It takes my breath away, every time.” 

The first time she’d used that idiom around him, he’d paused, looking shocked, and staring at her, like he expected her to be truly suffocating. It had been so damn hard, to swallow her laughter and explain. 

But now he nods, perhaps a little tentative. “I feel the same. About this galaxy.”

There’s something incredibly magnetic, about her newest team member. 

“I would like to.. Spar with you. Some time. Perhaps I could.. Learn.” 

He was all about learning, she was finding. Taking things apart and putting them back together, to figure them out. He was clearly an engineer at heart, but didn’t appear to know that himself. She wasn’t sure if she ought to tell him, or just subtly nudge him towards it. 

Maybe Lexi would know. 

But Leo’s nodding, quick, pleased bobs of her chin, and her grin has gone bigger, genuine now. “I’d love that, actually. You’re huge, so it’d be a hell of a challenge.” 

He appears startled, by her words, and glances her over, frowning. Leo isn’t small, by human standards- 5’9’’ is pretty damn tall, really. But he’s still _taller_ , and far denser. “Thank you?” He settles on, finally, though the clear question mark at the end made her snort. 

“You should probably join me for yoga, too, though. If you wanna learn the kinds of moves I do. We can probably adapt some of the poses for you.” She offers it, quickly, her tongue managing not to trip over the rapid-fire words. “It’ll help. Flexibility and all that, right?” 

Considering her, he nods, and she makes a humming noise- pleased. “Good. We get together every morning around 600, in my quarters. Lexi, Vetra, Cora and I, that is.” 

“I will look forward to it.” 

Leaning back, Leo settles her expression. She’ll be quick with a smile and a laugh any day, but her true feelings were usually under wraps. Trust issues ran deep, with everyone except Sirius. Jaal hadn’t been wrong, when he’d made the comment in the Mako, of most humans _not_ being the most.. Open with their emotions. 

Astute, really. 

“Are you doing alright here? I noticed you’re bunking in the tech lab. Everything comfortable?” She didn’t begrudge him his own space. Everyone had kind of found their own, after all. Not many of them _actually_ slept in the crew quarters, she’d found. Which was.. Probably wise. Only four beds. 

(Dear designers of the Tempest- why. Why? What the fuck? What ship can be manned by four crew members? Sincerely, Leonis Faye Ryder.) 

“I.. Yes. Thank you, Pathfinder.” He said, slowly. 

Snorting, she shook her head. “Ryder. Or Leo. Or Leonis. Or hell, _Faye_.” Her brother always called her by her middle name- when he’d been little, ‘L’s’ had been his most hated letter. It stuck. “Not Pathfinder, not when we’re on the Tempest. We’re not running off of military regs.” 

He nods, slowly, a curious light entering his eyes. It makes her want to poke, and prod- see if she can make him smile. Maybe even laugh. 

“I am comfortable.” he continues, looking to her hands, the bloodied knuckles. “It is easier, for me. To sleep there. You are all still very.. New.” 

Well it was better than how he’d phrased it the first time she’d checked in for this same reason. 

“We’re all pretty new to each other. Pretty interesting, too.” She tips her head this way and that, thinking. “You’re pretty interesting. To me, I mean.” 

This startles an almost-smile from him, and she has to fight the urge to cheer. 

“Thank you, Pathfinder. I will speak to you later.” He said, rising and turning to go. Leo rolls her eyes, huffing. 

“I’m gonna break you of that habit, Ama Darav.” 

A pause, and he looks back at her, the amusement more pronounced, now. 

“We’ll see.” 

Oh it’s _on._


	6. Special Tactics and Reconnaissance (x2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avitus Rix and Sirius Ryder meet for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is honestly just laying the groundwork, as... Most of these fics are at this point. But I ship Sirius and Avitus almost as much as I ship Avitus and happiness. Also Avitus and Macen.   
> But Bioware didn't give me ANY OF THOSE THINGS so i'm making it happen myself.

Sirius Ryder is starting to think that he’s a problem magnet. Or a danger magnet. Or maybe just a bad-situation-magnet. 

Leonis would agree, he’s sure. If she were here. 

‘I’ll be fine, sis, I’m totally recovered’ he mocked himself, internally, while sinking against the wall of the building. A research station, he’s pretty sure. The Nexus is, at least, a pretty good place to have a sudden and intense migraine, after waking up from a coma and being kidnapped by the leader of an enemy force. 

The chances of someone shooting and robbing him, or vice versa, are probably low. There’s a lot of militia around. Kandros would probably object. 

He’s pretty sure? 

Blood’s a bitch to clean.

Kandros is best friends with Leo, so he’d have her to deal with if he let Rius die. 

Yeah, Kandros would object.

Pushing back electric-blue hair, he sighs, moving again from the wall with slow, careful steps. Harry had cleared him for mild exercise, as he woke more and more from the coma, as the Nexus became more and more to the people within. Exploring Ops had been his instant thought. 

Everything was here. 

Including Pathfinder Hall. 

The place that marked his sister’s accomplishments, and now those of the other Pathfinders, since they’d been found. Since they’d gotten to work. Rius hadn’t met any of them yet, but during Leo’s many _(many)_ visits, she’d told him about them. 

Sarissa Theris, the asari who had made grave mistakes, but was fighting still for her people, for one. Leo didn’t like her personally, but professionally, she had to admire the asari’s strength and prowess. Keeping her as Pathfinder had been the best outcome, in the end. They’d already had one inexperienced Pathfinder. They needed all the experience they could get. 

Lumont Hayjer, then. The Captain of the Salarian ark, successor of Zevin Raeka. He knew that Raeka’s fate haunted Leo, even now, but she’d done what she thought was best, and she stood by that decision. Hayjer was a good sort, anyway, from what he’d heard. Kind, and brave, even against the odds they’d faced. It was an admirable thing, considering everything that had happened, to his people. To everyone, though. 

And then Avitus Rix, the turian pathfinder. He’d been separated from his ark, and Leo had found him and other survivors on Havarl. Taking the steps to find Natanus had been the obvious next step, and she’d worked with him, to find any clues they could- and any survivors they could. When they’d found the Natanus, Macen, the Pathfinder, and Avitus’ lover... He’d been dead, killed by the Scourge, and SAM too damaged to transfer on his own to Rix. 

The way Leo talked about the turian, she knew they were friends. She probably held him in the highest regard, of each of the Pathfinders. 

Curiosity, mostly, was driving this, besides the stir-madness of having been in a coma for over a year. He knew that as soon as he was cleared, he would be dragged off on the Tempest with Leo, if he wanted it. There was still so much of this new galaxy to see and explore. But that was.. Who knew how far off. And this was now. 

Shoving off the wall, Rius continues his slow, painful process to the Hall. The ramps aren’t fun, in the slightest. The slightest loss of balance, and the world is spinning, but he leans on the rails, and powers through. Stubbornness was a family trait, and both of the twins had it in spades to spare. 

Leo had proven it with her tenaciousness, in finding a home for every damn race she could, in working with the angaran resistance, forging a path she’d been unprepared for. It was his turn, now, to prove to all of Andromeda that both Ryders were forces to be reckoned with. 

Starting with walking through the Nexus, even though his muscles were screaming at him. 

He wasn’t in the shape he’d once been, which was an insult all its’ own. He’d prided himself on his fitness- a soldier, through and through, built to be one and born for the job. But now he was rail thin, comparatively. If the Nexus had wind, one light gust would be able to knock him clean over. 

An asari is watching him, concern in amber gaze as he makes his slow journey, and Rius shoots her a smile, an attempt to dissuade the worry he knows she has. She doesn’t know him- all she sees is a man struggling for each step. But the last thing he needs is someone hovering, or worse, running to find a medic. 

Harry probably wouldn’t be happy he’d decided to go.. THIS far.

Oh well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. 

Finally making it to the door, Sirius huffed a relieved sigh, before limping his way through the doors. The Aide greets him without looking up, and he keeps moving, up to the next ramp, and then the last, with a relieved sigh. 

Leo isn’t here- neither is Hayjer or Theris, or Rix, from what he can see. But there’s a memorial- for the Pathfinders lost. A holo, of the planets they’d saved, breathed life into again. Yes, Leo being the only one with a ship had done most, but she’d been vehement that they others had helped. Advice, another set of eyes on a mission- the Pathfinders were all a team. Heleus wouldn’t be a home for anyone, without them and their SAMs. 

He looks everything over, as he catches his breath, with a growing sense of awe- of pride. He’s not jealous of his sister’s accomplishments. How could he be? They were two halves of a whole, and always had been. 

But he was proud of her. Proud of everything she’d managed, thrown into a hellscape she’d been unprepared for- and alone. Without him, without their father. 

No longer, at least. Soon enough they’d be racing the stars together. 

But for now, he moved, sinking onto the couch and watching the holos turn and revolve. This was a good place. It had the fingerprints of each of the Pathfinders, in their own way. There was gear from each, left here, in their places- he could see one of Leo’s field journals left on the table, and a pistol- Spectre-class, obviously Avitus’. An empty bottle of Heleus wine, from Hayjer. A set of biotic amplifiers, likely from Sarissa. 

It was almost like a clubhouse- but far more adult, and much more impressive than an eight-year-old’s treehouse. 

He doesn’t mean to close his eyes, but he does, sinking into to sofa and letting his head fade away. Here, in a place that doesn’t smell of antiseptic, or beep with heart monitors, he actually manages to rest. 

Of course, those soldier’s instincts wake him, when he feels eyes on him. Sirius doesn’t know how much later it is, though the ‘sky’ is dimmer than it had been before. He’s disoriented- flailing and almost falling from the couch in his alarm. 

Two three-fingered hands grab him, and prevent him from hitting the floor in what would doubtless be a jarringly painful event, and Rius’ golden gaze flies up. 

They meet with the absolutely most beautiful pair of brown eyes he’s ever seen, as he’s pushed, carefully back into his seat. The turian male flutters his mandibles in what’s a definitely bemused expression. “You must be Ryder’s brother. Sirius, right?” Came the dual-toned voice, as he straightens, taking a step back.   
“What gave me away? The loud hair?” Rius asked, while he pressed a hand to his chest, trying to calm his wild heart. 

“The eyes. You both have that-- reddish gold.” replies Avitus, as he shits back, to take a seat on the sofa opposite Sirius. His legs stretch, carefully to prevent his spurs from digging into the soft material. 

“Dad did too.” Sirius says, without thinking, before settling himself, and taking a slow breath. “You must be Pathfinder Rix. Leo’s told me about you.” 

That brings pause, to the older male, and he looks surprised, for a minute. His brow-plates raise, as he considers the ‘younger’ Ryder twin

“I think, somehow, I shouldn’t be surprised by that. And yet, I am.” Avitus says, finally, and Rius shrugs. 

“She likes you. She tells me about all the people she likes. And the people she doesn’t, but you’re not on that shit list.” He can’t resist a playful sort of grin. “Lucky for you. She’s definitely got a temper.” 

Rix laughs, at that, shaking his head. “Believe me, I know. I’m in here a lot, and I’ve overheard more than one of her…. ‘Conversations’ with Tann.” He swings his gaze up, to the desk where the Salarian usually is. He’s been blessedly absent since Rius arrived, though the younger Ryder knows that his luck’s gonna run out, sooner or later on that front. 

Ugh. 

But then the turian watches him again, thoughtful. “Something tells me that you shouldn’t be all the way here.” He says, finally. “You kind of look like hell, for all that it’s a little hard to tell with humans.” 

Rius grimaced. “What? I’ve lost my good looks already? Curse that coma.” The quip is automatic, and maybe a little defensive, but not harsh. The comment was coming from a good place. “Yeah, I probably shouldn’t be here, but… Nothing ventured, right?” 

A laugh is his reward, after a startled gaze. “You really are related. Is that a Ryder mindset, through and through? Like a Pathfinder yourself.” 

Smiling more genuinely, Rius relaxes. “Hell yeah. It’s practically in my blood, at this point.” 

“Normally I wouldn’t think something like this job could work in that way… But hell. You’re probably right. It’s really not something that training can ever prepare you for, I think. You have to have the mindset for it.” Rix replies. His gaze is still boring into Sirius- uncomfortable, slightly, but mesmerizing too. Like the former Spectre can see right into who Sirius Ryder is, beneath the bluster and charm. 

He finds that he really doesn’t want that look to go away. It’s been a long time since he’s felt like anyone other than his family could see him. 

“So.” Sirius starts, letting the word drag from his throat, slow. “Pathfinder for the turians. Have they rebuilt your ship, yet?” He’d heard that all but the _Tempest_ had been slated for scrap, to maintain and prolong the life of the dying Nexus before the _Hyperion_ had docked. 

Rix’s eyes take on a look of genuine pleasure, at that. “They’ve started to. Since the original was more or less killed, I’m overseeing everything- even get a little input.” He gives the human male a dry look. “I insisted on a weapons system. The _Tempest_ doesn’t have much of one, and I’m not flying out into this cluster without being.. You humans have a phrase, I think. ‘Armed to the teeth’?” 

Sirius nods, to let him know that he’d used the idiom correctly, and Rix breathes in, before continuing. “I’ll… I’m going to call her the _Barro_ I think.” 

Macen Barro. The former Pathfinder, and Avitus’ lost love. Sirius can feel his mask melt away, his expression softening to something.. Kinder. “I think that’s a hell of a name. Sounds great.” 

There’s a flutter of Avitus’ subharmonics- gentle and soft, but present, and the Pathfinder looks down, for a moment. “I agree. Thanks.”

The air is heavy with emotion, for a moment, and Sirius _knows_ that look of pain in the turian’s eyes. His father had worn it every day, after Ellen Ryder’s death, even though he’d tried like hell to bury it. 

“I want to see it, when she’s done.” Sirius says, then. “Especially your weapons system. I’ve got a knack for code, so I can probably one-up anything the engineers here do for you.” 

There’s a look of interest in Avitus’ eyes, at that, and Sirius has to resist preening. He and Leo had shown biotic prowess from an early age- while she had spread her focus to become any and everything she could, he had focused on the biotics and on tech. A Sentinel from the get-go. 

“I’ll probably take you up on that.” The soldier says, spreading his mandibles in a sort of smile that Rius recognized from Sid, the female turian who visited him every few days. He’d always interacted with other races, but before her, the nuances of turian expressions had been.. Difficult, at times, to grasp. Vetra’s younger sister had decided he was _going_ to be her friend, since he’d woken, and that had resulted in a bit of a crash-course. 

He kind of loved her for her doggedness, truth be told. She was just a kid, but she was a clever kid. 

“Anyway.” Avitus says, startling Siris from.. Well. Staring. He doesn’t even have the grace to be ashamed about it, just smiling faintly, and re-focusing back to the conversation. The pathfinder clears his throat, and eyes him more critically, now. “Something tells me that you’re not supposed to be this far from the med bay.” 

“I’m telling you, right now, that if you give me shit I can and will declare you a hypocrite.” Rius declared, leaning back. “There’s no way a former Spectre would consent to bed rest any more than necessary.” 

Avitus takes the comment in stride- laughs, actually, a deep noise that seems to startle them both, before raising his hands in surrender. “You got me. I’m just trying to make sure you don’t die on me. Leonis would have my head on a damn platter.” 

A pause. “I think you’re underestimating her knowledge of my stubbornness, and her fondness for you. You’re her friend and colleague. I’m her moronic little brother.” Rius can’t stop the chuckle. “But I promise not to drop dead while you’re in the vicinity. Deal?” 

“Deal.” Sighs the turian. “I hear you’re a recon specialist, if we’re bringing up ranks. How’s that?” 

“The training was fun.” Sirius admits. “I always had a mind for that sort of thing, I guess. In the Alliance I was kind of a glorified security guard. This suits me more. I’m good at sneaking, and I’ve got a good mind for detail. How’s Pathfinding? I heard you were looking for _Ark Natanus_ survivors?”

Real pleasure flares in Avitus’ face, at that, and Sirius thinks he wants to see that look more. Wants to see more of those little uncertain smiles, too. 

“Yeah. I’m finding them, too. Some haven’t.. Some weren’t as lucky as me. Didn’t make it. But a lot have. To date, since taking on the role, I’ve found eighty pods, and fifty two surviving turians.” 

A breath gusts out of Sirius, surprised, and he beams, at that. It’s- it’s fantastic news, really. Leo had told him how many pods had been lost, when she found the _Natanus._ It had driven her nuts- if she’d gotten there faster, she’d raged, if she hadn’t been so lost on leads. Blaming themselves was a pretty big Ryder thing, but he’d tried to ease her mind anyway. 

“That’s amazing news. If there’s ever anything I can do…” 

The offer makes Sirius and Avitus both pause. The younger Ryder had said it without even considering… But he found that he meant it. Yes, he wanted to be with his sister, exploring the stars with her as soon as he was cleared. 

But he wanted to help this, too. He wanted to do what he could, to ensure that everyone lost could be found- could be brought home. 

There’s a long pause, and Sirius thinks for a moment that he’s overstepped, but then Avitus smiles again. It’s different- it’s small, but it’s true, and there’s real emotion there. “I’ll be sure to do that. Maybe I’ll snag you, from time to time. A recon specialist can’t hurt at all, when we’re doing recovery, I think.” 

“You bet.” comes the instant agreement. “Even if you’ve got the fancy SAM, I’ll keep up, and that’s a promise.” 

“Get better and cleared, first. Then we’ll talk.” There’s a thrum of amusement- but there’s gratitude too, in Rix’s voice. Like he’s surprised that Rius would have made the offer. 

Alec Ryder might not have. Leo and Rius wouldn’t hesitate.

“It’s a date.” Rius says, simply.


	7. Oh. Fuck.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarya's seeing changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shorter thing that I just wanted to throw at you guys because it was a plotbunny that wouldn't leave me alone. None of the rest of the chapters should be this short, but honestly this has been a Week From Hell, and.... I'm too tired to do more.

It’s the touching, honestly. Casual touching, now that hadn’t happened before. Or at least she didn’t think it had. 

It’s the touching that makes her feel so giddy and off-balance, half the time. A hand on her elbow, as Garrus passes her, A tap on her head if she says something he finds funny, with one long finger. Bumping his hip against hers if he felt playful, though that had only been once. It still counted.

Touching itself isn’t new. Sarya was one hell of a tactile person- she liked to touch and be touched, so long as the other party didn’t object to it too much. But Garrus starting it was… Newer. 

And it was _nice._ She couldn’t deny that. It was nice to just be able to have contact with someone for contact’s sake. But there’s something different, to touching Garrus than there is, say, Thane. 

The drell also bears her penchant for touchy-feely, with a lot of grace, and dare she say, a fond sort of smile that could only _just_ be discerned.

But with Garrus, there’s a sort of spiral, whenever he touches her. A moment of ‘don’t pull away’ and a flash of happiness at the mark of fondness. A sense of belonging, almost, and it’s fucking distracting. 

Especially when it happens in the field. 

Rolling out of cover, she hauls the shotgun - a heavily modded Valiant - from her back, takes aim, and fires. The kickback is something she’s long used to, and she adjusts, even as her target goes down with a gurgle of pain, before nothing. 

She’d heard Joker once say that for all that she was a pretty fun person, she was death incarnate on the field. He’s not wrong, she muses, as she spins, aims and fires again. Another target goes down- and then a third, though this one with the perfect round hole that screams of Garrus’ handiwork. 

Biting back an almost smile- he’s always got her back, even when she’s already ready for the threat-, her gaze swings to check on Jack. She needn’t have bothered- the biotic is letting loose on the mercs, like they’ve personally offended her. She’s fine.  
Holy shit, was that the guy’s kidney? 

_Focus._

Spinning and lunging back to cover, Sarya skids on her knees, half-spinning through the move, and taking another shot at the idiot she can hear attempting to rush her. Her blast takes down his shield, and stagger-steps him- a sticky grenade is tossed at his feet- 

And she ducks, as grey-spiked shrapnel tears through the air, narrowly missing her own face. 

(She’s already got one scar from her own explosions, she doesn’t want another one any time soon thanks. Or.. She HAD. Fucking Cerberus.)

The entire base is cleared out in no time at all, and she huffs as they finish, grabbing the intel they need off the first terminal she can get her hands on, and her brain into. Garrus is a looming presence at her four o’ clock, and she opens her mouth to quip, when his hand lands on her shoulder for a moment. 

Her brain short-circuits, and Sarya looks up at him, gaze maybe just a little too wide. But he’s not watching her- his eyes are beyond them, tracking for any movement. Anyone they’d missed. 

Sarya feels like she’s just swallowed her own tongue, as she downloads the information she needs, and then breathes, for a second, before straightening. The motion causes his hand to slide off of her armor, and she mourns the loss, for a moment. 

Ridiculous. She couldn’t even feel it, through the plating. 

Sarya knows why she’s so affected, though. And she’s known for a while. Her feelings for Garrus had hopped across the ‘platonic’ line the moment she’d seen him on Omega. But he’d been her friend before anything else. 

Ruining that relationship with stupid, squishy, romantic junk? Not a fucking chance. 

She couldn’t do this without him.

Maybe, maybe once she could have. But right now she’s surrounded by sharks, and she’s a wolf in the water drowning. He’s the thing pulling her head up, whether he knows it or not, whether he means to or not. 

Breathing in, long and low, Sarya moves, pulling her shotgun off her shoulder once more, and making for the exit. It’s more a precaution, than anything else- they hadn’t been quiet coming in here. Never could be, with a demolitionist and a biotic both. 

And well, noise like that could have attracted attention, one way or another. Better safe than sorry, in the end. 

But the return to the Normandy is a quiet one. Almost unnatturally. Garrus and Jack speak, back and forth- banter or bickering, she isn’t sure. 

She’s a little lost in her own head, honestly, and so the half-hearted attempts to bring her into the conversation don’t exactly gain traction. Brow furrowed, and lips thinned in what Joker called her ‘don’t fuck with me’ face, there’s… A lot to think about. 

Fuck.


End file.
